A Collection of Blogs Written By Men & Women In Prison

What the Message Was: (part nine) by Matthew l Newton

“Apart from being homeless, which isn’t all as bad as most people think, (I mean yeah, there are better ways to get a sandwhich then sticking your paw into a drain spout to grab at the trash can that is just on the other side of a wall that looks , and smells, to have some form of grease running down the side of it in order to sneak away with whatever was not eaten by some rich ass-hat who tossed it in there a week ago) and apart from needing to seriously go to the hospital before my liver fails, and maybe apart from the sudden bout of blindness that, were it not for the morning sun blasting this side of the country from nights embrace would not be happening, life was pretty good.

Okay, life is shit. Especially now. Life sucks the balls that need sucking, then gives those balls chlamydia and laughs as they shrival and die. But I’m not lying when I say being homeless isn’t all that bad. People suck, they fight and bicker and cry and complain and take up needless space with useless things that they never use and that no-one will ever buy back from them or care as much about. When your homeless, you have nothing. You take up only the space it takes to fit you and your clothes. Admittedly, some of us carry more baggage then others, and for those I am not speaking, nor of them. But when you can go from one spot to another and call that spot home, then move on and call the next spot the same and never have to worry about whether or not your leaving anything or anyone behind, it’s not so bad. You just go, get up, leave.

Did I say that homeless wasn’t that bad or did I start off by saying that apart from being homeless Life wasn’t all that bad?”

“What, I wasn’t listening?” Says the man next to me on the train. He is a flat suited fucking metro-sex-me-up with perfect white teeth that shine thru his rapist smile.

“I said someone dropped shit on your shoes duesh-bag.” I flip my finger in his face and walk passed him hurriedly. It won’t take his long to workout that it was my shit on his shoes. I do carry an oder, but I’m homeless so…..

“You fucking prick, bitch ass hobo peice shit!!” He is screaming as the doors to the L open and I’m down the stairs faster than anyone else onboard. Once on the street below I take a right and cross beneath the tracks to an abandoned apartment building.
If he is brave enough to follow me in here then I deserve the beating.

“Check your weapons!!” As soon as I cross the doorway and head for a blackened set of stairs to the basement, Gerry, the crocked toothed bag man who watches this floor is on me.

“Go fuck yourself Gerry, the wars been over for some time now!” I am in no mood to give up the only knife I been able to find out here. Seems like ever since The Bleak nobody leaves shit they can kill with just lying around. Plenty of clothes though. Plenty of abandoned clothes.